To Panama and back

by Henry T. Byford

Then they let in one whose bloody shoulders bore evidence of the previous encounter with darts and banderilleros. He charged a little, but only in self-defense. This was the third of those who had been introduced, “El Novillero,” the Greenhorn of the Arena, the only one who had shown any spirit. But that was out of him now and he was as unwilling to do any harm to his masters as the others had been.

The alcalde made a signal to stop the farce and the show collapsed. Some got up to go and some sat still; but no one paid any attention to the bull, who stood where he had been left and contemplated the moving crowd with wonder and uncertainty. However, he seemed quite contented to be a spectator.

The doctor and I sat silently in our seats, not being sufficiently excited either to say or do anything, when unexpectedly the most interesting part of the entertainment commenced. A boy nine or ten years old crept over the low fence and sneaked toward the screen in front of the brick wall near which the bull stood, and ran behind it. Then he stepped forth, held out his hand and when the bull looked at him jumped back. Immediately two other boys who were on the fence climbed down and sneaked behind the screen, and also tried to tease the bull, who now placed himself on the defensive. More boys jumped down into the arena and began to leap about near the screens and whistle and halloa at the astonished “Novillero.” As there were now too many little fellows in the enclosure to find room behind the screens, I began to fear for their safety. The noise and antics, however, of so many little devils seemed to confuse the dumb gladiator, and he merely remained on the defensive, making feints at those who ventured near him.

Bye and bye a boy about fifteen years of age procured one of the red cloaks, ran up to the bull and shook it in his face, while he himself stood at one side of it. The bull, who was not afraid of cloaks, made a sort of short bluff charge at it and as he passed the boy almost grazed him, for he was so near the brick wall that there was hardly space for sidestepping. The boy repeated the maneuver and so did the bull, who was becoming trained to the cloak charging exhibition and acquitted himself like a trained dog. This greatly amused the spectators who knew what a simple matter it was to let a bull charge at a cloak with closed eyes, for they always close their eyes just before striking the object of attack. This closing of the eyes is what gives the banderilleros the opportunity of performing apparently perilous antics right in the path of a bull, who also completes his charge when he strikes the cloak, particularly if he considers himself merely on the defensive, as most of them do.

There were now about forty little boys in the arena, and when the boy with the cloak got tired the whole crowd of children rushed toward the animal, who backed up against the wall and stood at bay with head down. Now for some broken bones, I thought.

Little by little the crowd grew bolder and came quite close to him. Giving plenty of warning, he made a short, slow charge at them and sent them scattering and hooting and yelling in all directions. A cow would have hooked them. After a couple of similar bluffs he started on a trot after them, stopped in the middle of the arena, then went back to the wall and again assumed a restful defensive attitude. He was a good bull to have about children. Evidently he did not wish to injure any one, and I think that but for the recollection of the severe treatment he had received from the banderilleros previously, he would have entered into the spirit of the game with the boys and would have enjoyed it. And yet this animal had been brought in to be pricked with barbed darts, teased with red cloaks, stabbed with a sword, to have his spine transfixed and his throat cut—rough treatment for an animal who refused to harm the children. We left the children playing with him.

Doctor Echeverría had not discussed the bull farce at the time, nor did he do so on the way back to the hotel, but while we were at dinner he suddenly said in his gentle, deliberate way:

“Do you know, doctor, there are some things we see in our lives that we can never forget, things that mark off periods in our lives? I feel that this bull-fight is one of those things.”

“You are right,” I said, trying to cheer him. “It was neither a bull-fight nor a bully fight, it was merely a fight between bulls and bullies.”

In the evening the regular Sunday open-air concert was given in the Parque de la Catedrál, in front of Hotel Centrál. We did not go out and promenade, for with the morning excursion to the sabanas to tire us, the funeral to depress us, the bull-fight to haunt us, and our failure to win at the lottery to shame us, we were content to retire early and listen to the music and mosquitoes through the bars.